


blacktop nirvana.

by evanlinge



Category: Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: "For Whom the Bell Tolls", Episode: s05e04, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Spoilers, hints of slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-26
Updated: 2013-10-26
Packaged: 2017-12-30 13:30:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1019197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evanlinge/pseuds/evanlinge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The car's engine rumbles around him as it streaks across the empty black top. Stefan looks at Damon then – the alien gleam of his eyes, the sensuous curve of his mouth. “Go faster,” he says. He thinks he might be dreaming.</p>
            </blockquote>





	blacktop nirvana.

 

Music pounds in time with the car's rumble as they streak across the empty black top. Flickering street lamps catch the side mirrors, scattering beams of light down the road; the concrete is slick, and every turn feels like the vehicle is about to spin out of control. Damon drives faster.

 

“–blacked out for days, I wake up in strangers' blood, places I don't recognise, with women I don't remember.” Stefan's lips twist slightly.

 

“I feel alive again,” Damon mouths along with him, and Stefan huffs out an incredulous breath.

 

“All right, I think I've read enough.”

 

* * *

 

 

Stefan remembers when he first woke up in the parlour, fire burning in the background, reflecting the two strangers' identical looks of surprise back into his face. It was like the opening to a bad time-travel film.

Elina, Elane– _something_ , had practically thrown Damon at him, obviously at a loss of how to deal with the situation. Damon had taken it in stride, as if sudden bouts of ancient witch-induced amnesia were commonplace. Hell, maybe they were, in this town.

 

It feels strangely comfortable, if not familiar, to be riding shotgun in Damon's (stolen) car, listening to the dull roar of the music around them while Damon mocks (explains) Stefan's unremembered lifestyle. Stefan thinks he can actually detect a fondly resigned note in Damon's tone. Not that he knows him well enough to be able to tell. Stefan looks at Damon then, catching the alien blue gleam of his eyes, the sensuous twist of his mouth. They don't look much like brothers.

 

The rubbery taste of the blood-bag lingers behind Stefan's teeth long after the coppery taste of blood is gone. He's still _hungry_ , but not entirely certain what for. Maybe more blood, he thinks, but that doesn't seem quite right. Damon catches his hand as he rolls down the window, and tosses the drained bag into the back seat.

 

“You're a vampire, not a caveman,” His mouth curls upwards as he talks, but his eyes are glittering with something other than amusement. Stefan's been seeing that look a lot on him, and he has yet to place it. It could be the look of an older brother's affectionate exasperation with a younger sibling. It could be something else entirely.

 

“So, let me get this straight,” Stefan says, rolling up the window. “I helped you steal this car, I found out I was a vampire who killed his own father, and yet I don't litter,” he concludes.

 

“You're a man of principles, Stefan, whose had his memories erased by a two-thousand year-old witch,” Damon's smirk is oddly glib.

 

“Yeah, well I bet she drives a lot faster than you.” Stefan retorts, just to see the wicked glint in Damon's expression. “Wait, let me guess,” he continues, just because he can. “Fun brother,” he motions to himself, “safe brother,” he claps Damon's shoulder patronisingly.

 

Stefan's _brother's_ red mouth twists into a smile that's really more dangerous than it should look, and his booted heel stamps down on the gas; the engine roars as the car races down the highway and Stefan thinks he can feel the vibrations in his teeth. Excitement spikes through his system.

 

“What'cha doin'?” he says, too casually.

 

“Do you trust me?” Damon asks, teeth bared in a lightning-quick, indecent grin.

 

“Do I really have a choice?” Stefan counters, and Damon breathes a speculative laugh.

 

“Nope.”

 

Damon reaches down, breaking fast, and Stefan's whole body goes tense with the adrenaline rush, every nerve hyper-aware of Damon beside him, not twelve inches between them. The screech of tires burning on asphalt is unmistakable and Damon serves like he's insane – metal _screams_ and glass shatters with such a _noise_ as the car flips and rolls crazily, one, two, three, four, five, six–

For a moment his vision goes white and red and then white again and–

 

* * *

 

Stefan groans, amused and breathless all at once. He lays there for a moment, elbow digging into glass and asphalt as a strange frenzy of elation and pleasure blasts through him. The wrecked classic car burns slowly in front of him.

 

“I got it,” Stefan smiles, “you're the fun brother.”

 

Damon, behind him, laughs lowly. His lower lip is split and puffy with what looks like a swiftly-healing bruise. Stefan sort of wants to bite it back open.


End file.
